


a story the kids won't believe

by eversall



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Fake Marriage, M/M, but real romance thats just how it is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 08:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11574018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eversall/pseuds/eversall
Summary: Simon’s life gets wildly out of hand when he opens his door to a furious knocking at three in the morning on Saturday and gets a frazzled, furious Jace Wayland barging into his apartment, shouting, “You need to marry me!”“I - “ Simon blinks at Jace, takes a step back, collides with his shoe rack, and stumbles further backwards. “Cool, okay, so like. Are you drunk?”“No.” Jace stalks forward, twisting his hand in Simon’s collar and glaring at him with a wild kind of emotion in his eyes. “If you don’t fucking marry me in the next twenty-four hours, Lewis, I am going to be deported back to France, which is a country I didn’t even know I was from until a few hours ago, so suck it up and take one for the team and marry me.”Simon blames his half-asleep, drowsy state, and his general saint-like nature for saying yes so quickly..





	a story the kids won't believe

**Author's Note:**

> anon prompted:
> 
> "jimon + they get married because one of them needs a green card but it ends up turning into something more (ahhhhhh am i dead yet??)"
> 
> this is really cute and it ended up being 4k so I'm posting it separately instead of on my usual prompt fills fic. come follow me on [ tumblr ](http://eversall.tumblr.com/), maybe yell at me about shadowhunters, maybe prompt me? your choice, really.

Simon’s life gets wildly out of hand when he opens his door to a furious knocking at three in the morning on Saturday and gets a frazzled, furious Jace Wayland barging into his apartment, shouting, “You need to marry me!”

“I - “ Simon blinks at Jace, takes a step back, collides with his shoe rack, and stumbles further backwards. “Cool, okay, so like. Are you drunk?”

“ _No_.” Jace stalks forward, twisting his hand in Simon’s collar and  _glaring_  at him with a wild kind of emotion in his eyes. “If you don’t fucking marry me in the next twenty-four hours, Lewis, I am going to be deported back to  _France_ , which is a country I didn’t even  _know_  I was from until a few hours ago, so suck it up and take one for the team and  _marry me_.”

Simon blames his half-asleep, drowsy state, and his general saint-like nature for saying  _yes_  so quickly.

.

“ _Matrimony_?” Rebecca is wheezing with laughter, slumped over the countertop of Simon’s apartment. There are moving boxes everywhere and Jace’s stupid treadmill is placed precariously close to Simon’s guitar.

“What are you, eighty? Who uses that word anymore?” Simon asks waspishly, meticulously rearranging his coffee cabinet while Jace takes a shower.  _Jace_ needs space for his fucking tea collection.  _Jace_ needs a spot for his whey powder and protein mixes and whatever-the-fuck the green stuff is so he can keep his body like a beautiful work of art.

Simon has  _eyes_ , he’s not blind, he’s well-aware that his new husband - he shudders - looks hot enough to model for Calvin Klein, but  _God_ , it’s Jace, and he and Jace have always been better at being assholes to each other - and now Jace’s stuff is strewn through his apartment because the FBI’s immigration officer , Victor Aldertree, has a vendetta against the Lightwoods and is standing ready to fire Alec and Izzy from the FBI and deport Jace off to the home country he didn’t know he had if he so much as catches a  _whisper_  that this marriage is fake. Simon is a simple musician. He doesn’t deserve this.

“You’re  _married_.” Rebecca grins. “And you  _eloped_. And it’s a  _green-card marriage_. Mom is gonna be so furious when she hears, I’m going to be the good child for a  _decade_.”

“Not if you don’t  _tell_  her,” Simon says pointedly, and she wiggles her eyebrows furiously.

“Where’s the fun in that?” She asks, and Jace chooses that moment to stroll out of the bedroom, his towel slung low on his hips, hair damp and fluffy as it dries, humming as he roots through a box marked  _Toiletries_.

“Make me some tea,  _darling_.” Jace calls over his shoulder, making a kissy face at Simon. Simon glares.

“Make your own,  _honey_.” He shoots back, and Jace cackles as he escapes into the bedroom.

“Ooh, how domestic.” Rebecca grins, eating a cookie she’s managed to unearth from somewhere in the mess. “A stunning example of  _matrimonial_  harmony.”

.

Jace is the kind of fit that comes from a special hell of training, so Simon’s not surprised that he wakes up at ass o’clock to go jogging. What  _does_  surprise him is that Jace unceremoniously yanks the blankets from Simon’s sleeping form and dumps him on the ground, waking him from a deep, peaceful dream where he  _didn’t_  happen to be the only single person in their group of friends and he  _wasn’t_  roped into a fake marriage.

“ _Wha_ -” Simon starts, but Jace gently nudges Simon’s shoulder with his foot.

“Get up.” He says placidly. “We’re going running. I told Aldertree that we like to share our hobbies with each other.”

“You  _what_.” Simon repeats furiously. “Why couldn’t your hobby be  _cooking_?”

“It is.” Jace grabs Simon’s arm and physically hauls him up; Simon is so surprised by the strength in Jace’s grip and the previous statement that he just blinks up at Jace.

“Really?” He finally asks. “Are you gonna cook for me?”

“You’d get food poisoning if I didn’t. Do you  _live_  off of the Jade Wolf’s stuff?” Jace asks disapprovingly. “I can’t believe we’ve been friends for years and you don’t know that I can cook.”

“ _Enemies_!” Simon shouts as he heads into the walk-in closet and fumbles his way through grabbing a pair of basketball shorts and a T-shirt. He’s a people pleaser, he can’t say  _no_  to Jace wanting to run with him.

Plus, he - he doesn’t  _actually_  want Jace to be deported.

“We’re not enemies. You’re as frightening as a pack of butterflies.” Jace scoffs as Simon comes back out.

“Butterflies are frightening.” Simon protests. “When they land on you and you can feel their tiny legs creeping up your arm - “

“Butterflies don’t  _land_  on me.” Jace looks at Simon for a moment with wide eyes, and then he ducks his head and snickers softly. “Simon Lewis, actual Disney princess.”

Simon splutters helplessly for a moment, because Jace’s laugh is really nice and it’s never been directed  _only_  at him before. He’s briefly, suddenly overwhelmed by it - he’s  _married_  to Jace Herondale. This is his actual  _husband_ , they need to file their taxes together, they  _live_  together for the foreseeable future -

“Come on.” Jace is holding the door open, just looking at him, and Simon swallows.

What the  _fuck_  has he gotten himself into?

.

So the thing is, back when they all first met - when Clary was recruited to work as a “consultant”  on an FBI case because her long-gone father was apparently a psychotic killer - Simon had a small crush on Jace. Just, a small one. Miniscule.

“You thought he was the literal embodiment of the sun.” Maia needles him when he complains to her at the bar.

“I made a  _mistake_.” Simon emphasizes.

Because Jace spent a long time straight up ignoring Simon, and then a few more months teasing him relentlessly until they settled into a comfortable, bickering relationship. And now they’re  _married_ which is a huge step forward. Or backwards. Simon’s not sure.

“Well, now you’ll get to see your what-if.” Maia remarks, and Simon shakes his head.

“I don’t  _need_  to see a what-if.” He says. He picks at the edge of the bar table. “He’s not that bad anymore, not really. But it’s  _weird_  to be married.”

“Honestly?” Maia muses. “Yeah. It’s kind of frightening to think that you guys are doing this. I don’t know how you’re dealing with it.”

“Poorly.” Simon admits, and then he downs a shot.

.

Living with Jace is…something, alright.

They share a bed, because Aldertree warns them that he might pop in for a visit at any time, and besides the fact that Jace hogs all the covers, it’s mostly okay. They’re two fully grown men, but they keep to their own side of the bed and it’s fine.

Jace is always gone in the morning before Simon wakes up, off with his siblings to the FBI building for whatever assignment they’re working on. Simon gets up covered in blankets, which - he’s pretty sure Jace is tucking him in before he leaves for work. He can’t  _prove_ it, but it’s happening.

Jace isn’t a great roommate. For all his cooking skills, he’s shit at remembering what food to bring home and they end up with too much in the fridge or too little, and the milk is  _always_  expired. Simon tries to use the time Jace isn’t home to write songs and practice for his nightly gigs or record covers for his YouTube channel, but Jace has a habit of coming back at random times of the day if he finishes an op and sleeping off his exhaustion.

Simon doesn’t want to be the dick that wakes Jace up, especially when Jace stumbles through the door with scratches and bruises decorating his face, tiredness set deep in the lines of his shoulders. So he murmurs a  _hello_  to Jace, makes sure the dude changes before he falls asleep, and totes his guitar out to Luke’s, where he can practice in the boathouse. It’s inconvenient as hell.

One day, though -

“Where do you always go?” Jace asks, toeing off his shoes near the door. Simon looks up from where he’s packing his notebook up.

“What?” he asks.

“When I come home to sleep.” Jace clarifies, and Simon’s heart  _leaps_  for a second at the way Jace says ‘home’. He clears his throat.

“I go to Luke’s place?” Simon says, except it comes out more like a question, and he’s not sure why. Jace is frowning at him, so he adds, “To practice. So I don’t wake you.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Jace says, still frowning as he hangs his jacket up and disappears into the bedroom. Simon looks down bemusedly at his guitar and shrugs.

“What else am I supposed to do?” he calls out to Jace, who comes back into the living room in boxers and a T-shirt, sprawling onto the couch next to Simon.

“Play for me.” Jace says.

Simon squawks and clutches his guitar closer. “So you can make fun of me? No  _thanks_.” he says, indignant, and Jace snorts, his eyes keenly watching Simon.   
“I watch all your YouTube videos, you know.” He tells Simon conversationally, as if this revelation isn’t  _blowing Simon’s mind_. “You’re good.”

“I - of course I am!” Simon splutters, and he frowns in astonishment at Jace. “You watch them?”

“Of course.” Jace gives him a look. “I’ve followed you since I met you.”

“This is it.” Simon declares. “I’ve died and gone into the twilight zone.” Jace laughs, and nudges Simon’s knee with his foot.

“Just  _play_ , dude.” He says. Simon pushes his glasses up his nose and fixes Jace with a look.

“Only because you’re basically my number one fan.” Simon says mockingly, and Jace snorts, crossing his legs underneath him and letting his head fall back onto the couch cushions as Simon begins to strum his guitar again.

He plays a softer song, one that he’s been workshopping for the past few hours. He wants to layer it over an irregular synth beat or something, but he’s got to figure out the feel of the tune first, and work out some lyrics. He hums, low and thoughtful, as he loses himself in the music, keeping one eye on Jace. Jace’s eyes drift shut, eyelashes fanning across his cheeks as his fingers lazily tap along his thigh, out of sync with Simon’s music but looking an awful lot like a piano melody that Jace is constructing in his head.

It’s sweet, and peaceful, and Simon can’t control the growing feeling of contentment in his chest as Jace’s face relaxes, stress lines melting away as his fingers go slower and slower, until they fall completely still and his face goes lax, his mouth parting slightly as he falls asleep. Simon keeps playing, shifting his chords to something lower and more like a lullaby, winding the song down as peacefully as possible so he doesn’t wake Jace up.

It seems like hours later that he finally stops strumming, his eyes trained intently on Jace’s peaceful face. Jace is  _young_ , and Simon is reminded all over again how unfair it is that the world’s thrown so much against him. Trying to find his birth father after the shit show that was Valentine had been a big enough step, but to be hit with possible deportation for it?

Jace doesn’t deserve that. Simon sighs and places his guitar to the side before he carefully slides his arms under Jace’s neck and the back of his knees, silently counting to three before pushing upward, grunting with the weight of carrying a fully-grown man.

Jace makes a discontented noise and turn his head, his nose brushing Simon’s collarbone as he curls in on himself in Simon’s arms, making himself smaller in the short trek to the bedroom. Simon lowers him to the covers, and stands up slowly, sighing as he watches the way Jace unconsciously reaches for Simon, looking for him even through his sleep.

.

“Who’s great idea was it,” Simon mumbles as he sways into the kitchen, “to invite everyone over only to get  _hammered_.”

“You’re not hammered.” Jace says, amused, from where he’s cutting a cheesecake. “You’re just a ridiculously cheerful, slightly buzzed loser.”

“A loser who’s helping you host a grown-up dinner party, be grateful.” Simon scolds, absently moving to gather plates. From the living room, he hears a slap, and then raucous laughter. Honestly, he’s not sure he wants to know who just got hit.

“I knew I shouldn’t have brought out the champagne.” Jace muses as he wipes his hands on a dish towel and looks at Simon. “Alec likes it, but drunk-Alec is a bad influence on  _everyone_.”

A faint scream of  _butts_  comes from the living room, and Jace looks alarmed for a moment as Simon snickers. “There he goes  _again_.”

“Magnus will keep an eye on him.” Simons says, rooting around the cutlery drawer for forks.

“Hey, Si,” Jace says, and his voice is lower now, more intimate as he crosses his arms and walks closer to Simon, his eyes critical, “you want a coffee? You look tired.”

“It’s fine, one of the companies I sent my EP to asked for a different sample of a song so I was up late last night.” Simon runs a hand through his hair, sighing. “I really,  _really_  want that record deal. YouTube’s nice, and it’s great to have a following, but…I want to publish my music.”

“You’ll get it.” Jace says confidently. “You’re one of the best musicians I know. Don’t worry so much.”

“Not that easy.” Simon shrugs. “Thanks, though, Jace.” Jace smiles and squeezes Simon’s shoulder, taking the cheesecake and leaving the kitchen. He passes by Izzy coming into the kitchen to refill her glass of water.

“So,” Izzy says, raising an eyebrow, “you gonna tell me what this is all about, or are you gonna keep lying to yourself?”

“Lying.” Simon points a fork at her. “Lying sounds good.” Izzy snorts, flicking her hair over her shoulder and looking at him with eyes that are way too sharp.

“You gotta face it some day, Simon.” She says softly. “You’re both going to get hurt.”

“We’re going to be fine.” Simon shrugs, slings an arm around her neck. “We’re both adults who can totally be fake-married for a year, right? It’s not going to ruin my life and ruin me for other people forever. Not at all.”

“Only if you  _let_ it.” Izzy elbows him, looking at him significantly. He shrugs. He’s probably going to let it.

.

It hits Simon one Saturday, when he and Jace are in the middle of a passive aggressive fight over the coffee table. They keep  _moving_  it when the other isn’t looking, because this morning they had a screaming match over their cereal about where it should go. They called each other names, said horrible shit - the whole nine yards. Jace left - to God knows where - and Simon holed himself up in the bedroom, writing an angry song about how annoying blonde hair is.

In the weak sunlight filtering through his room, still in his pajamas, Simon comes to the abrupt conclusion that he isn’t hurt because they fought. He’s hurt because it feels too much like a real home, like a real couple, like something he imagines he would really fight over with his husband some day in the future; he’s hurt because it tastes like bitter disappointment to know that this can’t ever happen.

He emerges from his self-loathing in the afternoon to see Jace sitting at the dining table, moodily scrolling through his phone, with takeout containers in front of him.

“You’re up.” Jace says shortly. “I brought Thai.” Simon stares at him, and then hesitantly sits down, pulling the carton towards himself and opening it.

“Thanks.” He tells Jace gruffly, and Jace barely acknowledges it, just keeps looking at his phone as he eats his own food. They chew in silence; it’s deafening.

“So are we not going to talk?” Simon finally asks.

“We don’t have anything to talk about.” Jace says stiffly. Simon glares, pursing his lips, and puts his chopsticks down.

“Fine.” He bites out, and he gets up and stalks toward the bedroom. From behind him, he hears the sound of a chair scraping across the floor, and then -

“ _Simon_.” Jace says, hand catching his wrist, tugging Simon to a stop. His face is pinched, his eyes tired. At the look in Jace’s eyes, Simon deflates.

“This isn’t worth the fight.” he says quietly. “Nap?”

Jace nods, relieved, and just like that, it’s over. They curl up in bed, facing each other, and drift off slowly to sleep in the afternoon sun. Simon feels his heart skip a beat, and then start again, steady in his chest at the thought of Jace.

.

Two weeks later, Simon nervously makes his way to a nondescript office tucked right behind the most hipster coffee shop he’s ever seen and sinks into a chair across from one of the most frightening men he’s ever met in his life.

“Stop looking at me like I’m going to kill you.” Raphael says peevishly.

“It’s a real possibility.” Simon argues, slouching back into his chair. “Well?” His heart is hammering in his throat, his hands clammy, his feet tapping nervously across the floor. Raphael looks at him keenly, and then smirks, infuriating.

“You have a record deal.” He says. “You go into the studio next week.” 

“ _Next_  - oh my God!” Simon shouts, shooting out of his chair. Raphael outright  _laughs_ , but Simon doesn’t care - he feels like he’s flying, deliriously ecstatic. “Raphael,  _thank you_ , you’re the best manager ever!”

“Well, you’re not a bad singer.” Raphael remarks, which is the highest praise anyone can get from the man anyway. “Congratulations.”

“ _Thank you_.” Simon repeats, grateful. Raphael waves it away, and then leans closer across the desk.

“Now,” He says, his voice curious, “what’s this I hear about you marrying Jace?”

“Oh.” Simon groans and sinks back into his seat. He should have figured Magnus would mention it to Meliorn and Raphael. “Yeah. It’s a thing.”

“Is it…was he threatened with deportation?”

Simon looks up in surprise, his eyes narrowing. “How did you know?” he asks. Raphael shakes his head, looking thoughtful.

“Aldertree’s threatened some of the musicians I knew before with the same thing.” He says, steepling his fingers. “I think I can help you.”

.

And just like that, it’s over. Within two weeks, thanks to Raphael’s frightening efficiency, Aldertree’s been dissuaded from pursuing a deportation case with some heavy-handed manipulation from his ex-boyfriend and a threat of a lawsuit. The FBI moves ahead with granting Jace full citizenship status, and Friday afternoon finds Jace and Simon standing outside of the municipal court, staring dumbly at divorce papers.

“So scandalous, a month-long marriage.” Simon jokes, weakly. His voice sounds strange, like it’s coming from far away, all wrong. Jace looks at him.

“Yeah.” He says flatly. “Scandalous.”

They’re wearing suits, because it felt appropriate, somehow, and now Simon feels like he’s at a funeral. He swallows, unsure, his grip on the papers tightening.

“I’m going to stay with Magnus and Alec tonight.” Jace blurts out. “I’ll come by and pack my stuff tomorrow.”

“You - “ Simon is lost, floundering, hopeless. “You can just stay with me for one more night.”

“I can’t.” Jace says. His mouth twists into a frown. “I’m sorry.”

.

Simon can’t sleep. The bed seems frighteningly large, the covers are too thin, every noise echoes, and he’s alternating between sad and angry.

“Oh  _Simon_.” Clary says when he calls her at two in the morning. He maybe cries a little as she tells him, “You need to let yourself  _want_  things more.”

“I know.” He tells her, because he does know. It’s too little, too late.

Jace moves out the next day, coming by with a grim-faced Alec and packing all his things quicker than Simon thought possible. Alec squeezes Simon’s shoulder when Jace leaves without so much as a backwards glance, dropping his keys on the counter and walking out of the apartment.

“He doesn’t mean to be an asshole.” Alec says quietly. Simon lets out a watery laugh.

“Right, it just happens.” He replies, his voice thick, and Alec sighs.

“Take care of yourself, Simon. I’ll see you later this week.” He says, and then he picks up the last box of Jace’s stuff and leaves, and that’s it. Simon’s apartment is his again. No more waking up to a warm body, no more early morning runs, no late nights playing music with Jace. No more fighting over stupid things, no more cooking together, no more watching reruns and making fun of nineties fashion.

No more of his apartment feeling like  _home_.

.

Simon doesn’t see Jace for weeks.

“You’re depressing.” Raphael tells Simon, his voice worried despite his harsh words, when Simon just falters halfway through a line in the studio,  _again_. Simon shrugs his shoulders.

“ _Life_  is depressing.” he says morosely. Raphael sighs.

“Why don’t you talk to him?” he asks. Simon shakes his head furiously.

“I don’t care about  _him_.” He says, lying outrageously. Raphael tips his head back in his chair, looking like he’s praying for strength.

“ _Musicians_.” He says, exasperated.

.

A banging on the door startles Simon out of a restless sleep. He sits up, rubs his eyes, checks the time - a little past midnight - and slides his glasses on. The banging sounds again, and Simon swears.

“ _Coming_.” He yells, and he stumbles out of bed to peer through the keyhole to see Jace. He swallows, closes his eyes, counts to three, and then opens the door.

“What do you want?” Simon asks, at the same time that Jace blurts out “I  _miss_ you.”

Simon blinks. Jace looks like a nightmare, hair fluffed from where he keeps running his hands through it, blue-brown eyes creased with worry and fatigue. His stubble is atrocious, like he’s forgotten how to shave, and his shirt is buttoned up wrong. He’s the most beautiful thing Simon’s ever seen.

“What?” he asks, finally, his voice high and alarmed. Jace growls, frustrated.

“I. Miss. You.” he bites out. “Don’t make me say it again.” Simon stares at him, his mind working furiously, noting the way Jace swallows.

“You gotta give me something more.” He finally says, softly, and Jace looks at him, his mouth pinched and tight.

“I can do that.” He says finally, and he steps forward and cradles Simon’s face with his large hands -

And then they’re  _kissing_ , glorious and wild, Jace’s lips insistently parting Simon’s, heat beginning to coil through Simon’s gut at the soft sound of their mouths sliding together. Simon groans and brings his hands up to weakly grasp at Jace’s shirt, his mind still half-asleep, urging Jace closer still, their noses bumping slightly as he adjusts the angle and kisses back deeper, wanting  _more_. Jace breaks the kiss with a huff, resting their foreheads together, looking at Simon with a tiny smile on his face, his eyes light and carefree.

“That enough for you?” He asks, his voice rough, and Simon bites his lip, watching the way Jace tracks the movement.

“Well, I don’t know.” Simon says, and then quickly, before he can lose his nerve. “You wanna go on a date with me?”

“I want,” Jace says, walking Simon backwards into his apartment and kicking the door shut behind them, “to take you to bed so I can sleep properly, because sleeping with you has ruined my sleep schedule. I need you to be there, snores and all.” 

“I don’t fucking -  _you_  snore! - “

“You can’t prove it. Anyway, and then I want to take you out for brunch tomorrow, and then maybe - we can get started  _somewhere_  on making that green card marriage a reality.”

Simon grins, his heart doing cartwheels, pressing a kiss to the tip of Jace’s nose and laughing when he wrinkles it in response.

“Sounds good.” He says. “I’m going to win you over with my charm.” Jace rolls his eyes.

“You had me from the moment you tripped over your own name.” Jace says, and then he pitches his voice higher. “ _Lewis, Simon Lewis. Two first names. Am I still talking_  - “

“That was years ago.” Simon interrupts, confused. Jace shifts uncomfortably.

“Yeah?” He says, cautious. Simon’s eyes widen.

“Oh my God.” He shoves at Jace’s shoulder. “All this time?”

“At the risk of sounding cheesy.” Jace says slowly. “Always.”

Simon kisses him again, knotting his fingers in Jace’s hair and trying to press closer, convey everything he can’t say in the kiss. Jace pulls away, looking like he’s been hit by a truck.

“I take it,” Jace says, smirking slightly, “that you feel the same way.” Simon thumbs at Jace’s red, kiss-swollen lips, and rolls his eyes.

“Of course.” He says simply, relishing the way Jace’s eyes light up. “We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.”

.

So yeah, maybe Jace isn’t his husband. But as Simon wakes up the next morning, Jace’s arms suffocating him and the sound of weak snores filling the bedroom, he can’t help but think that they’ll get there, someday. And that’s more than enough for him.


End file.
